


Eight Days A Week

by mandysimo13



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Schmoop, So much sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 05:06:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11268525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandysimo13/pseuds/mandysimo13
Summary: John and Sherlock share a rare lazy lie in while Rosie visits the grandparents.





	Eight Days A Week

**Author's Note:**

> This was a head canon I had ages ago and thought I'd finally write a short fic for it.

John woke up late, relishing the rare chance to lie in. 

 

Life in 221B was as chaotic as it ever was. Sherlock was still a whirlwind of activity; spouting off deductions at unseemly times, solving cases, running experiments, leaving body parts in the fridge, and forgetting the milk. John still played his part as The Handler for a certain Consulting Detective; working at the surgery to pay the bills, cleaning up the flat, forcing food and sleep into Sherlock, and remembering the milk. With the addition of Rosie, she contributed her own mess, noise, and her own brand anarchy but it fit right in with the rest of their chaos. 

 

She sat at the table with Sherlock when he did his more tame experiments, insisting that she too look into the microscope. She kneeled on a stool next to John when he cooked so he could teach her the basics; one was never too young the proper way to make a fry up. She danced and sang with exuberance when Sherlock played his violin; so much so that Sherlock was considering buying Rosie her own instrument. She sat with John on the couch whenever he watched football or the Great British Bake-off, yelling along with her daddy despite having no idea what was really happening on screen. 

 

She filled each day with excitement and gave her fathers endless bouts of happiness. And a few grey hairs, to even things out. 

 

But she was at grandma and grandpa Holmes’ for the weekend. So the flat saw something it hadn’t seen since John first moved out: silence. 

 

John smiled, languidly stretching in the pale light that shone into their room. A groan escaped him and a matching one answered it next to him. Before he had the chance to open his eyes, arms came around his middle and a body pressed in close. 

 

“Go back to sleep,” Sherlock murmured sleepily into John’s chest. 

 

John’s hand came to cup the back of Sherlock’s head, mussing the already tangled curls. “Did I wake you?”

 

Sherlock shook his head. “This is normal breakfast time. Body woke me. Don’t want to. Back to sleep. Shhh.”

 

John chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of Sherlock’s head. “Do you think we’ll get much sleep now? After years of waking early?”

 

“Call it an experiment, John.” Sherlock yawned and nuzzled against John’s chest. “And the thing about experiments is that you will never know the outcome until you try.” John couldn’t help it, that got him laughing, much to the consternation of his sleepy partner. “That is not sleeping, John.”

 

“No it’s not,” John agreed. He blinked his eyes open and looked down to find Sherlock’s face completely buried in his neck, hiding from the sun. “How about this,” he said, kissing his head once more. “I let you sleep in a little, and I’ll get some breakfast started?”

 

After a moment of silent contemplating, Sherlock asked, “do we have the jam I like?”

 

“I think we do.”

 

Sherlock finally tilted his head up towards John, face open and sleep sweet. “Can we come back here later? To take advantage of the absence of a certain little monster?”

 

John smiled fondly, absolutely interested in taking advantage of the empty flat; once his full bladder and empty stomach were taken care of, of course. He cupped Sherlock’s cheek with his free hand and kissed him softly, heedless of their morning breath. “You got it, love.” Their next kiss was slow, deeper, but without urgency. It was a promise of more to come without teasing; comfortable and undemanding. 

 

He slipped out of bed, taking note that Sherlock’s arms just laid where they were, not making an effort to move or hold him, until they flopped onto the bed in his absence.  _ Like a bloody cat, he is, _ John mused. He tugged on a pair of pajama pants and kissed Sherlock once more before leaving the room.

 

After emptying his bladder, John went off to the kitchen to start making their breakfast. He flipped the switch on their old radio and was pleased to find it already cued to the “oldies” station. He might have been offended to be labeled an “oldie” if it weren’t such good music. Elvis was halfway through “Suspicious Minds”, and he hummed along while he dug through their cabinet for the coffee. 

 

_ “Just don’t let a good thing die _ _   
_ _ Oh honey, you know I never lied to you _ _   
_ __ Yeah, yeah

 

_ We’re caught in a trap, I can’t walk out _

_ Because I love you too much baby _ _   
_ _ Why can’t you see, what you’re doing to me _ _   
_ __ When you don’t believe a word I’m saying”

 

John had a momentary flashback to just after Sherlock’s return and the fallout after Mary. He shivered and focused more on putting coffee grounds in the filter than the words of the song. Then, to distract himself, he decided to pick up their clothing from where they ended up the night before. They had wasted no time fully enjoying Rosie’s absence. After the Holmes family left with Rosie, they had torn into each other like presents on Christmas. The new image chased out the old, depressing ones and John soon found himself smiling and tuning into the new song on the radio. 

 

_ “Ooh, I need your love babe _

_ Guess, you know it’s true _

_ Hope you need my love babe _

_ Just like I need you” _

 

The Beatles never failed to put a smile on his face and soon after the song started he was singing and dancing around the room as he picked up their clothes. 

 

_ “Hold me, love me _

_ Hold me, love me _

_ I ain’t got nothing but love girl _

_ Eight days a week _

 

_ Eight days a week _

_ I lo-o-o-ove you” _

 

“What happened to breakfast,” Sherlock asked from the hallway, pajamas hastily donned and smirk clear on his face. John knew he hadn’t been there long, leaning against the door frame watching John as he made a fool of himself. Ignoring the question, John deposited their clothes into his chair and walked towards him. Sherlock eyed him, amusement in his smile and John took full advantage of that playful mood. He took Sherlock’s hands from where they were folded into his crossed arms and was pleased to have Sherlock move with him willingly. 

 

John pulled him close and they began dancing around their messy living room while John sang at him. 

 

_ “Ooh, I need your love babe _

_ Guess you know it’s true _

_ Hope you need my love babe _

_ Just like I need you” _

 

The words were truth wrapped in a light, happy pop song. He sang them with happy conviction, reveling in Sherlock’s indulgent smile and compliance at being manhandled around the living room.

 

“You’re ridiculous, John,” he told him, voice lacking any heat. 

 

“ _ I ain’t got nothing but love babe, eight days a week,”  _ he replied back, singing.

 

“You know there’s only seven days in a week, John.”

_ “Eight days a week, I lo-o-o-ove you _ __   
  


_ Eight days a week _

_ Is not enough to show I care” _

 

Sherlock’s cheeks flared pink and he tried to hide his face but John’s hand reached out from his shoulder to his cheek to hold Sherlock’s gaze directly on him. 

 

_ “Love you every day, girl _

_ Always on my mind _

_ One thing I can say, girl _

_ Love you all the time” _

 

Sherlock replied back softly, “I love you too John.”

 

The song finished out without John singing it. He was far too busy putting his mouth to better use. 


End file.
